Under a Steel Sky
by Forgotten Loss
Summary: [Fahrenheit 451] The online journal of Mildred Montag. You thought you knew Millie, but you knew nothing. This is Mildred's account of the events in the novel. With a twist. She isn't the blind follower everyone thought she was.
1. 07 03 50

**Under a Steel Sky  
**the online journal of  
**Mildred Montag**

by Forgotten Loss

07/03/50

What I love the most about the internet is the fact that it can't be censored. The government can't limit us, can't hold us back. With satellite technology they can't just shut down the networks. They can make internet satellites in the US illegal, but they can't outlaw computers themselves. Through a few minor changes, a bit of code hacking, and some money being quietly transferred to corporations outside the country, computers can easily access the internet through foreign networks.

I may appear to be your average woman on the outside, but it can be easily assumed that I am a good actor. I didn't just do good in Stage Performance at my school, I excelled in it. The teachers always said my act was flawless. Not too phony, not too overdone, and very believable. I may not have any really radical thoughts, such as actually hording books or anything equally as stupid as that, but I'm not going to buy into what the phony government officials say.

I grew up in a normal home, you know? I had a working father and a caring mother. Caring to a point, that is. She always made sure I went to school, got good grades, and made sure I had enough food and enough things to do. I don't believe she loved me, though, because she was incapable of loving a child. She never left the high school mentality. I was more of a child she babysat, some kid that was nice and all, but not special in any particular way.

I'm married to a fireman, which is quite interesting considering my position on politics. It just makes my act all the more believable. He's nice, I guess, but he's honestly not my type of guy. I'm more into the kind of person that thinks for himself. My husband just does what he does, and doesn't question anything. I bet if he did start to really think, he'd still end up doing something stupid… like collect books. Ha, the idiot!

Well, I'm off to watch the parlor. My husband will be home soon.

>Millie


	2. 08 03 50

08/03/50

If there is one thing that every human enjoys, it would be talking about themselves. Since I happen to be human, I enjoy it also. Here's a little quiz I took so all you readers out there can get to know the "real" me.

**Name**: Mildred  
**Birthday**: 16/07/19  
**Birthplace**: San Francisco  
**Current Location**: San Francisco  
**Eye Color**: Brown  
**Hair Color**: Bleached blonde  
**Height**: 5'5"  
**Right Handed or Left Handed**: Right  
**Your Heritage**: British and German  
**The Shoes You Wore Today**: White runners  
**Your Weakness**: Acting  
**Your Fears**: Getting caught  
**Your Favorite Food**: Tortellini**  
Your Favorite Color**: Black and white**  
Your Favorite Day**: Thursday  
**Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year**: Become an actress  
**Thoughts First Waking Up**: "Why must I wake up?"  
**Your Best Physical Feature**: My shoulders  
**Your Bedtime**: 11  
**Your Most Missed Memory**: Listening to music with my father

Well, I hope you learned something new and interesting about me today. (Haha, like anyone really cares!)

Not much is going on in my life today, so there really isn't much to say. It's just been the usual: boring, slow, and tiring.

>Millie


	3. 12 03 50

12/03/50

Life is so predictable. It's boring. All we do is go to work, listen to the news, watch burnings, and watch the parlor. Kids have resorted to meaningless violence just to entertain themselves. It's never in the media, though, because the government doesn't want us to know just how many deaths are caused by teenage boredom.

My "friends" are a bunch of airheads obsessed with the pretty pictures that flash across the screen on the parlor. They have no appreciation for the acting, and they have no passionate loathing for the terrible plots. I do pretend to love the silly plots, just to pacify them.

There was a burning a few houses down last night. I hate it when it's so near because everyone has to go out and make a big fuss over how they all had "always known the neighbors were a bit odd." They have to keep me up with their incessant chattering. Although I do find the sight of fire quite stunning, and would probably be up watching the flames anyway. Their chatter still annoys me.

Some silly program was on the parlor this evening. They had all the classics in it, from Bach and Romeo to Jesus himself. It was quite comical, seeing Christ ramble on about Cola and deodorant. The scriptwriters have no imagination. Each episode is only a handful of minutes long and jam-packed with advertisements imbedded into the scripts.

I had my friends over for lunch today. We had a spectacular time, if you omit the fact that I hate them. All they ever talk about is my house this, my husband that, or I saw this or I heard that. They never have anything interesting to say. I guess this is what I get for being different.

Some days I hate being intelligent.

>Millie


	4. 14 03 50

14/03/50

I did something incredibly stupid last night. I was so sick of this boring state, and so sick of my flaky friends, that I actually downed a whole container of sleeping pills. In true form, my husband came home before they could kill me properly and had medics swap my blood and empty my stomach. I knew that had happened when I woke up alive. No one can consume that many pills without dying.

I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about when he confronted me. I made up some story about how I thought there had been a party and I had drunk too much. I'm sure he didn't believe that was what really happened, but I do think he believes that I don't remember what really happened.

I was thinking about music earlier. The trash they have out these days is just loud noises laced with bad vocals. It is absolutely horrible. The last time I heard anything worth listening to was when my father came home early one day and took out his old MP3 player. What ever happened to class? I don't want to hear songs about a trashy girl who feels used because one of her many boyfriends broke up with her. Sometimes I even wonder if people still sing the music or if they're done digitally.

The parlor is such a stupid thing. It is probably the bane of my existence. Each day I have to pretend to be riveted to the scenes, I have to pretend as if I actually enjoy the show. Though I do think the parlor is a better option compared to having to deal with my dumber than doornails husband.

The parlor came out with this new thing where they send the scripts out of the characters, with one part missing, and the watcher gets to act the missing role. I shall have fun with this, even if the plot is stupid. Maybe I can brush up on my acting skills. Wait, I don't need to brush up. I forgot for a moment that my whole life was just one big act. Silly me.

>Millie


	5. 17 03 50

17/03/50

I have been thinking of death lately. The episode I had a few days ago really got me thinking. Is it really worth living? I don't do anything worthwhile. All I do is pretend to watch the parlor, pretend to be a dumb follower, and pretend to be happy. I don't know if I even remember what happiness feels like. I'm not sad or anything, but I'm not happy. I'm just plain unfeeling. Apathetic.

Death is not some glorious end to my eternal suffering… No, it's just making the inevitable happen sooner. At least there would be a lot less boredom on my part. It's not like anyone will be sad that I'm gone. My body will be burned right after, and life for my husband and friends will resume as usual. I'm not important to anyone, I do not make their lives happier or supply them with any great insight.

What is life without life? It is nothing, I guess. So if it is nothing, then I am nothing. And if I am nothing, am I not already dead? Is life worthwhile, or are only the things in life worthwhile? If it is the second, then most of us aren't living at all.

I think I have gotten nowhere with my musings. I'm traveling in a circle that doesn't ever reconnect, it just continually moves in a curve.

Maybe I'm just confused.

>Millie


	6. 22 03 50

22/03/50

My husband asked me something peculiar today. He actually asked me quite a few peculiar things.

The first thing he asked was if I remembered where I met him. How am I supposed to remember something as silly as that? Why would I want to? I only remember important things. Where I met my useless husband is something I am more likely to repress than to voluntarily remember.

The second thing he asked was a bunch of questions about the show that was on the parlor. I couldn't answer them, because frankly, I hadn't been paying attention to it. I just gave him a few brush off, "I don't know, why don't you watch it," answers.

The next thing he asked must have been the strangest one. He asked me about a girl that used to live next door. I think I heard something about her dying a week or so back, and told him so. What I really wanted to know was why he wanted to know. She isn't the type of girl most firemen want to be associated with. Well, most firemen wouldn't want to be associated with any young girls, for that matter.

It really got me wondering. How did he know her? Why did he ask about her? She is like me, except more obvious. A lot more obvious. I seem to fit in, but her and her family stick out like a pimple on pale white skin.

Now I'm really curious about my husband and that girl. With my luck he did something stupid like cheat on me with her to get back at me for being obsessed with the parlor. I don't want to have to deal with the messy emotions he might have because his lover died – or have to pretend to be heartbroken that he cheated on me.

Lucky I'm out of sleeping pills, or I might have test tasted the whole bottle again.

>Millie


	7. 23 03 50

23/03/50

My husband is acting very strange, I would have to say. He seems reluctant to go to work. He said some things about a burning that has me to believe that either he's gone squeamish or he might finally have started thinking for himself. The danger of him thinking is the stupid things he's liable to do. It must have something to with that girl he was talking about yesterday. I smell affair written all over it, now. He must have been enticed by her exotic thinking and then she must have opened his eyes somehow. I fear what will happen to my life now that he's changed. This is what I get for being bored with my life.

His boss is talking to him in our room this minute. They have been talking for a long time, and I do wonder what it is they're talking about. It isn't worth trying to spy on them, though. They are probably talking about the latest burning or whatever is on the news today.

Ah! They're done, so I must be off now.

>Millie

23/03/50 (later)

Oh no, it's exactly as I thought it would be, but worse. He not only stole a book, but has a stash of them. In our house. Of all the stupid things to do, it had to be this!

I tried to burn them, but he managed to convince me that we need to take a look at them and then we can burn them together. Although I did read a bit and was deeply inticed to read more, I knew we had to burn the books. I put on my persona and tried to convince him that the books were silly and useless.

My husband has been really into asking questions these days. He asked me if the people on the parlor loved me. Of course they don't, but he was trying to prove a point. His point didn't work, though, because he doesn't love me either. He can't love me, because to him I am a fly. I am a little fly on his walls, watching his walls. That is okay, because I don't love him, either. He is just a fly to me, also.

>Millie


	8. 24 03 50

24/03/50

My husband is very stupid indeed! He had the audacity to actually wave a book in the faces of our neighbors! Now all is ruined. They will send in an alarm, and in doing so, it is expected of me to send in an alarm also. I will be caught if I do not.

First I will have to bring the books back inside, because he had dragged them out earlier. Then I will put in the alarm. Maybe I will keep one hidden, just for myself. No, no, I must not. That is the kind of thinking that will get me caught. "No one will know, it's just one book," will soon become, "They haven't found me out yet, a few more will do no harm," and then I will be saying, "I'm doomed anyway. I should get as much out of it as possible." And then, well, then I presume I will be in jail, or dead.

My life has fallen apart so quickly. Who knew my dim-witted husband becoming independant would bring me so much hate instead of bringing us together in our free thinking.

I don't have much time, soon they will be around here under the alarm sent by my friends. I must go bring the books in and put my alarm in, or they will start to suspect something. Perhaps instead of keeping some, I will just "not see" a few in the outside stash.

On the last note I will have to say that although I am doomed, I am looking forward to his face when he realizes he's going to have to burn his own house.

>Millie

(The End, since it was an English project that only required 8 entries. And anyway, after this entry, the city is bombed so either Mildred is dead or at least doesn't have access to a computer.)


End file.
